From The Flames
by Rose Tinted Contact Lenses
Summary: On and off the field, Shepard is two different women. He cares for them both, in different ways.


_Finally! Got crushing writer's block for Shoker (again) and neglected the series for months, but it seems to have relented for now, so I'll try and write while I still can._

* * *

><p><strong>From The Flames<strong>

There are times when he can't help watching her, out on the field.

On the field, she's Commander Shepard, not Eva.

A soldier's walk, nothing too fancy - no ass-shaking or high heels here. (Unlike Miranda, who seems to like both the heels _and_ the ass-shaking; does she not realise that he's trying to _work?_ This is the third time she's walked past in, what... ten minutes?) Eyes (that he tries not to stare at when they talk) narrowed in concentration, fingers poised on the trigger of the assault rifle as she walks into the thick of it. The mouth he's used to seeing in a weary smile set in a line, nothing given away.

_Shit, if I were a Reaper, __**I'd **__be scared._

This is the soldier that Cerberus resurrected.

This is a woman he can imagine carrying him out of the flames, the burning wreckage of the Normandy. This isn't the one that _did._

She looks back at them, and he sees relief in her eyes; she stands up, battling to keep strands of hair out of her face (failing), and smiles at the others. Even through a view screen, that damn smile _shines._ "Coast's clear. Back to the Normandy?"

_This _is the woman that took him out of burning wreckage, might _just _have told him she loved him (though, he's now sure that was his fevered imagination) and makes _really _bad coffee.

The squad seem to agree; she straps her gun on her back and walks with the others - Commander Shepard prowls, _Eva _doesn't - while asking Garrus exactly _what _he's been calibrating for so long.

He grins at hearing the muttered half-reply.

* * *

><p>The grin falls from his face at seeing the livid gash her hair's been concealing. "What the <em>hell...?"<em> It's not bone deep, but _woah, _that's a lot of blood. He's been in the Alliance - and the Alliance's med clinics - for _years_, so it's not like he hasn't seen his fair share of... _stuff,_ but where did she even _get_ it from? They didn't have to fight down there.

She sees his frown. "Stairs. Then a metal crate," she explains, wincing, holding a hand to it.

A moment of silence. The great, invincible, Saren-defeating Shepard _fell downstairs? _

_"Don't _say _anything_."

"Not about to, ma'am." That's a pretty nasty injury, but with all the Cerberus work done on her, falling downstairs wouldn't be _that _big a deal. He _thinks. _Doesn't mean he's not worried for her.

"I'm just gonna..." She gestures to the elevator. Seeing Chakwas, he guesses.

"Sure." He turns back to the controls, cursing himself in his head. What _could_ he have said - "Put some medi-gel on it, it'll be fine by morning"? _Hey, actually..._ He turns around to suggest it, but she's already gone.

* * *

><p>She manages to surprise him when she eventually does come back. "<em>Ma'am?"<em>

"Huh?" He turns round (though not before hastily closing any incriminating extranet windows - he's not _that _stupid) and sees that she's managed to get the blood out of her hair. She's holding a bloodied cloth to the wound, wincing a little. "Didn't Chakwas - ?"

"Tell me to put medi-gel on it? Yeah. I did."

"You sure it wasn't _omni-_gel?"

She shrugs, just a little too casually. "With all the cybernetics, that'd probably work too." Is that a _joke? _He hates it when she talks about "the new model" - her words, not his - like it's nothing; everyone can see it bothers her, and he grimaces at the false-bright tone. He gestures to her; she comes closer, and he takes the cloth away. _Ow. That has __**gotta**__ hurt. _She jumps at his touch.

"Ah, sorry. That bad, huh?"

"Uh... a little." She swallows, distracted, eyes flickering around the CIC, and then they return to him. "But..._'Ma'am'?_"

He looks at her, puzzled.

"I don't call you Helmsman Moreau," she continues.

"Or Joker," he reminds her, raising his eyebrows and dabbing at the wound.

"I call you Jeff. You can return the favour."

"You're kinda my _senior officer_, though. It's different." He examines it. "Have you been _wiping _this?" He looks up in surprise as he finally gets it. "Wait... does that mean...?"

"Yes, you can call me Eva," she sighs, rolling her eyes.

She meets his eye and grins; he tries not to be too aware of the fact that he's _already _brushing her hair away from her face...

"You _are _my _friend_. It makes sense." The moment is broken - for him, anyway, since she views him as nothing more than a great _friend. _He's known that for a long time, but he'd_ hoped... _

She looks away, and he hands her back the cloth. "Mess hall?" she asks.

"Sure."

She smiles at him over her shoulder, and it's a little sad - he wonders why - before she walks away.

_This, _not some efficient, focused, _scary_ super-soldier, is the woman who rescued him from the flames.

And he's glad.


End file.
